The Lion and the Unicorn
by Elsie girl
Summary: In darkest days of the war, the Order uncovers a new forbidden item being sold in Knockturn Alley: human beings. Lupin poses as a buyer to save some of the girls, muggle and mudbloods, but has he made the wisest or worst decision when the girl he chooses has no memory? What has he gotten himself into? Creepy nursery rhymes abound (see title). Please R&R!
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter One**

_Hark, hark, the dogs do bark;_

_The beggars are coming to town._

_Some in rags and some in jags,_

_And one in a velvet gown._

She first felt the pounding in her head and the cold, wet surface underneath her. She moved against what she recognized as hard stone, her body struggling against its own stiffness. She blinked, but no sight returned to her; the room was perfectly dark. There was a faint dripping sound in one corner and a gentle weeping in another. Here and there, the scratch of clothing against stone confirmed her suspicions that she was not alone in what she assumed was some sort of underground location, perhaps a dungeon or cellar of some kind.

All these conclusions came to her with ease, but how she came to be in such a place was a complete mystery. She tried to remember the last thing before the darkness, but it only increased the pain in her already throbbing head. She cradled it with a cool hand and pulled herself upright, wondering if she should speak into the darkness to her companions. She opened her mouth and closed it again. She could just imagine something lurking in the pitch blackness, waiting for her to speak, mimicking pathetic noises in a trap. It was a wild imagination she knew, but, then again, being locked in a dungeon was pretty wild too.

The incessant dripping of the water made her thirsty and she swallowed, finding her throat felt like it was full of hot sand. Scooting carefully on her bottom—she had no idea how tall the ceiling might be—she inched towards the sound of the water, licking her lips.

Just before she reached it, a burst of light flooded the small room. There were cries and groans of discomfort. She shielded her eyes, waiting for them to adjust. The large, black boots of a man were visible at the top of a set of stairs. For a moment, they waited there.

She knew enough to be uneasy, to watch the other girls clinging to each other with tearstained faces, drawing their knees up, whimpering. She knew these boots were trouble. Slowly, they began to make their way down the wooden steps that led into the small cellar she had taken for a dungeon. The jingle of keys at his side made her certain they were locked in, though for how long or why she could not guess.

At his other side, he carried a very thin, peculiar sort of flashlight. It looked like a stick with a light at the tip. When he held it at eye level, examining the contents of the cellar, she could see that the man was hideous. She tried not to grimace, but she was unable to look away. Their eyes locked. He moved towards her.

He pivoted quickly and grabbed instead the shoulder of a terrified blonde girl in the corner, then lunged forward towards his original target. She evaded his large hand and looked at him, puzzled. Before he could anger, she stood up a little and came closer to him, making it clear she intended to follow him peaceably. It was his turn to look surprised, so did the others daring to peek out from behind their hands.

Wherever they were headed was obviously undesirable, but she was already sure there was no other escape from the cellar, so the best chance she had at surviving was to emerge into whatever awaited and calculate her situation. Emerging unbound would be even better for her chances. He did not seem particularly bright and allowed her this. She tried not to show her own pleasure, keeping her face blank and empty.

When they reached the top of the stairs, the light did not increase drastically as she expected. The air altered only a little. They appeared to be in a shop of some kind that stocked antiques. She saw some old jewelry, furniture, shrunken heads. A rather grey, hunched man examined her with critical eye, removing a stick with no light from his pocket. He flicked it in the air and she felt a light breeze against her skin. She touched her face to find it feeling suddenly clean. As he sniffled around her and blonde, changing their clothes and cleaning them up with a flick of his stick, the blonde seemed unsurprised though a little more weepy.

She, however, only just managed to keep her jaw from dropping. Instinct gave her a strong feeling she should never allow her face to show surprise before these characters. Ever. Even if she could barely think the word aloud: _wands_.

The older man talked to the dumb one in a British accent, some area London she believed, insisting she be bound before they exited. She thought about darting for it then, but the path to the only visible door was blocked. Her hands were bound with rope by magic and she followed the dumb, ugly man towards the door. The grey one smiled wickedly at them as they passed.

"Help us." The blonde pleaded to him, but if he heard her cry he ignored it.

The bigger one simply bumped against the stuff in his way, knocking it askew. She sized him up—he was dumb perhaps, but also over a foot taller than her and about twice as wide. Plus, she was pretty sure his stick constituted a weapon.

_Wait for the best chance to escape_, she told herself. _Be patient._

For the time being, that was the plan. Though where she would run, she had no idea.

They were led into a narrow alley. He squeezed through first, entering a slightly wider alleyway filled with people in robes. The sky above showed it was afternoon; the rooftops suggested London; the crowd blocked the exits and was entirely focused upon a small, wooden platform she and the other girl were now being forced upon.

They were meet with cheers and jeers by a mob of stick-carriers, some looking very aristocratic and wealthy in velvet and gems. These were for the most part quieter, but fingered their purses and fixed their eyes with a dangerous hunger. The others were rough, rugged, and rather dirty looking. Some were drunk, some old, some crippled, and some with horrendous teeth. Their clothes were mismatched or bore moth holes and patches.

She watched the crowd as carefully as they watched her. She had little time.

The smaller, blonde girl was pushed forwards first. She trembled and cowered as the crowd laughed, some of them rushing forward in excitement and being shot back by some unseen force to the guffaw of onlookers.

There were but two promising candidates among the rabble, she observed. The first was a rich man; in fact, he appeared to be one of the richest. He had blonde hair, was reasonably handsome, and looked about her age. His father at his side looked like a harsh man and unnerved her, but the boy—he could be manageable. She could make him fall for her.

The other hope was the neatest of the poor. He was an intelligent-looking man who leaned on the wall near the back. He was older than she, perhaps old enough to be her father, and remained quiet. He was dressed in a suit that was aged but well-kept. Something about his face, though scarred and sad, seemed gentle and kind compared to the others. Looks could be misleading. But she was good at reading people.

The moments were ticking by as the men raised their hands and coin purses and sticks to indicate their interest in her companion. The rich boy bid on the blonde girl several times. The noise of the crowd grew in ferocity for a while as the bids climbed.

She struggled to keep her face expressionless. It fell nearly silent as three then two men locked in battle over the girl. Back and forth they went, holding everyone's attention, even hers because one of them was the blonde boy and if he got the first girl, it was unlikely he'd want to stick around for her too.

But he did not win. His father whispered something in his ear, and his hand stayed. The other man, partial balding, waited, breath-bated, until the announcement was made, then smiled widely, shaking his fists in joyful victory. The young man scowled in response, but eyed his father who seemed pleased. Perhaps the blonde would not wish to go home empty handed. Perhaps going home with someone so bitterly disappointed would be unwise for her though.

She stepped forward as the blonde was pulled from the stage. The poor girl was still now, almost catatonic. The rich, balding man was stroking her hair, but the little blonde was staring wide eyed into the brick walls.

Knowing it was now her turn to be bid on, she made a quick decision. She slouched, kept her face devoid of emotion. She flipped her long, dark hair behind her to hide the often complimented feature. She averted her eyes somewhat, trying to conceal their brightness. The crowd paused a moment, seeming to deliberate her worth. It was working.

The man behind her poked her with his stick. "Look pretty," he commanded in a deep, dumb voice. She straightened a little and her eyes fell directly on the blonde. The first bid was cast.

For a while, her fortune was tossed among the crowd so wildly she could not keep track. She just stood there awkwardly above them like a cow at auction. As the bids grew, the number of voices decreased. She ignored the numbers; they made little sense anyway.

As the voices dropped to two, one of them the blonde boy, a new one joined. The poorer man she had eyed earlier was staring at her. They made eye contact. Another quick decision. She struggled to communicate with her expression a need she could not verbalize even mentally. She felt he somehow heard her.

Only the blonde and the older man remained in the running. She prayed the weaker one succeeded, but did not know which one that was. Not knowing who to route for, she looked to the sky and a couple of pigeons flying overhead and let fate play out as it would.

Each time the annoyed blonde increased his bid with an air of frustration, she felt a terrible lurch of fear in her stomach that the other man may not be able to match it. Every moment he did, she felt another lurch at the idea of becoming his young plaything and held her breath for the candidate closer to her own age to return out of stubbornness. For a long while, he did.

Finally, murmurs led her to believe things were getting truly ridiculous. It certainly seemed to her she had been standing a long time, but she supposed that may be so, as the tension mounting below her was almost palpable. What's more, the two men seemed to recognize each other.

"Really, Lupin!" The rich blonde boy's snobby father spat, spinning to face the other man through the crowd. The horde parted. "As if you could afford such a price." His voice was soft, delicate with its carefully placed insult.

The other man sort of smiled, a sad smile, and she spied a scar along his face. "I've been saving up."

"That the only way you can get a woman, by buying one?" The boy sneered, looking less attractive. The crowd was looking at the poorer man now with distrust for a reason she could decipher until the boy continued. "Guess it puts some women off, knowing you're a werewolf."

She demanded her lungs remain stationary. No sharp intake of breath could give away her shock. Or fear. The golden eyes of the man called Lupin darted to her, looking for a reaction. She gave no indication she had heard.

If this man was a werewolf, and the scars somehow seemed to indicate that might be so what with all the wand-waving going on in this neighborhood, he may be the more dangerous choice. On the other hand, if he was a werewolf, then the pale, young man and his father could possibly be vampires, and she thought those harder to handle than wolves.

"All the more reason for you to let me have her." Came the calm reply. "I'm sure there is more to come worth your money. You'd hate to spend it all on the first toy you came across and have none left for the thing you really want, like a foolish child." The boy and his father were not the only ones to stiffen at the insult. The pair exchanged a few harsh words in hushed voices.

"Have her." The father said, turning on his heel and striding away, robe billowing. His son followed, nearly pouting.

So that was that. She thought for a moment of crying out to the rich men now leaving her to the beast-man. She bit her tongue. It was done.

Money was exchanged, and she was hurried down the rickety stairs into the arms of the waiting purchaser. They were surrounded by jealous glares. A few groping hands and brandished fists.

"Hello, there. I'm Remus Lupin. Well, we'd better get out of here I think. Hold onto me tightly." His voice was full of a false cheer that she did not like, and she hesitated to clutch the stranger as tightly as he might otherwise like. He squeezed her upper arm uncomfortably. "Tight." He emphasized in her ear. She dug her fingers into his shirt and felt a sharp pull in her gut as she was launched forward at high speed, her vision blurring, and tumbled bewildered to the ground upon a much softer surface: a dusty carpet.

_A/N: Thanks for giving this a chance! Please take a minute to leave a review. _


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

_This is the maiden all forlorn_

_That milked the cow with the crumpled horn_

_That tossed the dog that worried the cat_

_That killed the rat that ate the malt_

_That lay in the house that Jack built._

"Here, let me help you." He gently put a hand on her elbow to help her up, but she jerked away in disgust, wheeling around to face him and backing up. He put his hands above his head as if to surrender, but his wand was out.

"Whoa. It's alright. You're safe." He spoke soothingly as if to a startled horse.

She ignored him, eyes darting around swiftly to take in her surroundings.

They were in a musty smelling cottage. It might have been charming had it been taken care off. A window was broken and unrepaired, letting in a cold breeze; the garden outside it looked half-wild and overgrown, half tended. Nearly every surface inside was dusty. Wallpaper and paint peeled in places. There were cobwebs here and there on the bookshelves and cabinets. The kitchen and front door were behind him. She stood with her back against an old, red couch that faced an empty fireplace. Further behind was a doorway which led to a dark hallway and, she suspected, a stairwell from a glimpse of banister.

It was obvious this man was not wealthy. He was not young. There was no family here and no servants, so they were alone. The only question was: was he fast with that wand and was there a door in the back? This may be the moment she was waiting for. She knew her eyes were wild now with fear, her back lowered like an animal preparing to defend itself. His voice remained level and low. Almost pleasant.

"I'm Remus Lupin, and I'm not going to hurt you. I promise. Why don't you sit down and I'll make us some tea?"

Her eyes darted around as he stepped slowly forward. She stepped backwards around the end of the couch bumping into a small, marble-topped inn table.

"Careful." He warned as it teetered. She caught a vase just before it could tumble. "Nice catch. What's your name?"

She did not reply, but instead stared at the vase in her hand as she stood there, frozen. Then she stared at him. The moment was suspended, everything moving slowly. Recognition seemed to dawn, and he opened his mouth to begin, "No, don't—"

She hurled the vase at him with all her strength, feeling a stab of guilt even as she aimed for his head.

He deflected it with magic and it smashed against the corner wall away from both of them. She stood there aghast for a moment, rethinking her plan.

"Please, don't do that." He said simply, like a mildly displeased teacher.

There was only one more thing she could think of—she sprinted towards the other side of the kitchen hoping to round the counter to the door before he could close the distance between them. He was slower than her but just as smart. He cut off her path to the door, wrapping her tightly around the abdomen and chest with his surprisingly strong arms. She dug her fingernails into his sleeves, her desperate and pointless attempts at escaping his grasp. She could smell him, pressed against his chest. He smelled of tea and chocolate and the forest and a little of the musty cottage. It might have been pleasant if he weren't holding her captive.

"Just hold on!" He panted while she struggled against him, kicking at anything in reach and sending several objects crashing. She did not see what they were as she was thrashing her head and hair about wildly, wriggling against him as much as she could in order to get free. His pleas for her to calm down were drowned out by her screams for help. It became increasingly difficult to get them out as his grip on her was quite tight.

They bumped against the counter then the wall with thump. He let out a groan of pain. She fell silent as the breath was knocked out of her. He wrestled her over to the couch and sunk to the floor, his back against the fat piece of furniture, which slid a little with their combined weight. "I really don't want to hex you, but I can't keep this up."

Sensing her plan had officially failed, she stilled and quieted. Still holding her tightly against him, the man pointed his stick at the fireplace and it sprang to life, the warmth welcome. It became apparent then that it was beginning to grow dark outside and this was the only light in the room. Everything held a strange glow and unfamiliar shadows flickered and danced. He caught his breath, his chest rising and falling against her back as she basically sat in his lap. He wiped his brow. Maybe she could tire him out and escape while he slept.

"Now, that's better." He said in that false cheer again accompanied by a heavy sigh. Suddenly she wondered what all she'd have to do before he would be tired out. She shivered, pushing the thoughts from her mind. He reached behind them and brought a blanket down from the back of the couch, attempting to wrap it around her with one arm. He thought she was cold.

"Glad to see you're a fighter." So he wanted her to resist him. Is that why he spent so much on her? She was suddenly very tired and trying hard to summon the strength to fight more. The fire and his scent were not helping; they were naturally calming. "Now things would go a lot better if you could tell me your name."

She said nothing. Maybe if she did not fight, he'd be uninterested. She slumped in his arms, forcing a yawn which she feigned concealing.

"Now if I get us some tea, will you just sit here a moment?" His voice was as if speaking to a child. She hesitated, then nodded. He let her go and stood slowly behind her, taking his wand and keeping it out as he walked the few feet to the kitchen. He prepared the tea in the portion of the kitchen between her and the door, his eyes on her always. She pulled the blanket around, curled her legs underneath her, and pretended to watch the fire, eyelids drooping for show. She barely caught the scent of lavender and possibly chamomile as he no doubt slipped it into her drink to calm her, maybe make her drift off.

He sat next to her with two china teacups, handing her one. She took it cautiously. He kept a few inches distance out of courtesy sipping his tea nonchalantly, waiting. He was a strange man, she surmised, taking a sip that she spit back in and pretending to swallow.

He attempted another small smile but failed and became pensive over his cup. She waited.

"I know you won't believe me just yet, but I have no intentions of harming you. I only spent the money to save you…" He blathered on with his story to get her to trust him, but she wasn't listening. She was formulating a plan. Why was he trying so hard to win her over? It was not like he needed to in order to get what he wanted.

Then, it occurred to her.

She dropped her cup, wincing as the near-boiling water splattered her skirt and hands.

"Oh no." He stood instantly, tentatively placing hand on her elbow as she too leapt to her feet. She forced her eyes to well with tears as they made their way to the kitchen. They were so close to the door then… but she had to wait. She made sure he saw the tears in her light blue eyes as he ran cold water over her scalded hands.

"Hold on," he said gently. "I have a salve for burns right here." Perfect. She thought he would. She barely dared breathe as he turned his back to reach into a cabinet over the stove. He was two steps away from her, rifling through the bottles and parcels.

She did not hesitate; there was no time. As silently as she possibly could, she reached the door, threw it open, and sprinted outside.

She did not stop running to asses where she was, though she knew she was running in sand as it was very difficult. Every direction looked the same, passed in a blur. She did not stop running at his calls from behind her. She ran and ran and ran until his voice disappeared behind the sounds of crashing waves and wind whipping her hair, trying it into a fishing net. The light waned and mist turned into light rain. Grey sky met grey water in grey haze as she wandered, cold, down the beach.

She had no idea where she was or where she should go. Was he still on her tail? She had no way to know. Her head still ached, her hand stung from the burns, and she was growing quite tired and hungry. She was walking inside a cloud—cold and wet, unable to see a foot or two in front of her. Directions blurred; one turn around became two, then three, then six or seven…she didn't know.

No one was in sight. It was growing dark and she couldn't even hear her own voice, let alone anyone calling for her. What name would the man named Remus being calling anyway? Maybe her family was wandering out there, searching for her, so close. Maybe not.

She finally allowed herself to collapse on a sand dune. Her tears of frustration dotted the sand with the raindrops, indistinguishable.

Maybe if she stayed out there long enough someone else would find her, a fisherman, a local boy, a widow. Or maybe she would die before she could find out what that man in the cottage really wanted from her. She laid down on the sand and closed her eyes.

She awoke feeling dry and warm. Her head still ached, but her hand was no longer painful at all. The familiar scents of staleness and tea were all around her once more. She opened her eyes to find a rather annoyed middle-aged man standing over her, his golden brown hair falling into his face. She wiggled under her blanket nervously.

"Welcome back." He said sardonically. "Here," he handed her a piece of what appeared to be chocolate. Her hunger burned in her stronger than her curiosity and she accepted it. It was chocolate. It melted in her mouth and warmed her all the way down.

"I know I don't really keep this place suitable for visitors, but I've never had anyone run away before." He tried to joke. She did not laugh, too busy assessing that she was still fully clothed under the blanket on the couch.

"Look," he continued. "I've no idea what ordeal you have endured and it's clear that trusting me is out of the question for now, so I've cast a spell to keep you from leaving the cottage grounds. It's for your own safety. I'll explain later. Right now, I have to be at a meeting. I'm late, actually. While I'm gone, please make yourself at home. There isn't any food really to speak of, but I'll return with something. Alright?"

She made no protests, so he nodded as if this was consent. He grabbed his coat and she noticed he'd not had time to dry himself and clean the sand from his trousers. He threw something into the fire which turned it green and she wondered if he might be poisoning her. Then he stepped into the colored flames. She sat up on the couch.

"I'll be back soon." He assured her before shouting something nonsensical and disappearing. She shook her head. Maybe this was all a psychotic hallucination and if she fell asleep, she'd wake to find herself medicated and strapped to a hospital bed. Now wouldn't that be nice, she thought, drifting off once more, unable to fight it any longer.

When she awoke, she was still alone in the cottage. The window had been repaired, probably by magic. The fire was still lively, and she doubted that was entirely natural either. Taking his invitation to make herself at home, she explored the cupboards of the kitchen and found them as hopelessly bare as he'd said they'd be. He'd probably gone underfed for months, by the look of him, saving his money for her. Well, at least it wasn't likely he'd let her starve then, at least not right away.

She heated what was left of the kettle water and had some tea. Her stomach growled angrily in response. Looking around her, she found that the mess she'd undoubtedly made before her departure was also cleaned. The vase that had shattered was resting on its regular table. She went directly to it, turning it over in her hands to make sure it was real, solid, that it did not fall apart again in her hands. On the matching table at the opposite end of the couch was an old, colored glass lamp. It was a very expensive one, she could tell, beautiful.

The bookshelf on the adjacent wall was most intriguing, containing lots of books about magic as well as some on history and several great novels. Many books on magic focused on werewolves. Next to these rested a worn armchair which did not directly match the couch, but was close to the gold in the wallpaper.

She abandoned the bookshelf to explore the darkened hallway. Walking into it signaled the small, iron torches on the wall to illuminate. The wallpaper that was peeling at the corners was the same red as the couch. There was a door under the stairs and a door to her left. She opened the one under the stairs first and found a small, plain bathroom that housed a sink, toilet, and garden tub.

A hot bath might do her some good, she thought. Besides, she had heard somewhere warm water relaxed the muscles, could make it easier if he came back…interested. She ran some water while she located a roughly worn white towel and placed it on the toilet nearby. Slowly, she sunk into the tub. The warmth seemed to seep through her skin. It washed away the filth both seen and unseen. She relaxed a few moments, soaking in it, but he could return at any moment and she'd rather not be naked.

She dried off and wrapped her towel around her, entering the other downstairs room in search of a comb. She had to switch on a light to see anything in there, and the moment to room was lit she could see why: the two windows were boarded up. The armchair and stool had three long tears; they had been ripped, it seemed, by claws. There were scratches here and there on the wood, like a dog had been trying to get out, a very big dog. Maybe a wolf.

There was a comb on the old dresser across the room by the large bed, but she suddenly found herself uneasy about crossing the room, as if the beast might be hiding under the bed and run out to attack her. She huffed, annoyed with herself, and shook her head as she forced herself to the dresser. She stood and stared at her reflection for a while. She looked pretty pale and thin, but better than she had few hours ago. She was rested and clean at least. She combed her long hair slowly, making herself look presentable. But as soon as it was perfect she remembered she would indeed be presented to someone shortly and she shook her head like a dog, plunging her fingers in it and pulling like a mad woman. There, she looked rabid. She hoped that wasn't a turn on to a werewolf.

She tried to creep out leaving the room exactly as it was. He may be able to smell that she had been there, having half-wolf sense and all, but he might still appreciate that she tried not to disturb anything and root through his private drawers. It was tempting. She supposed had a right to know what sort of man had…acquired her.

She resisted. The only thing she would come to know through snooping was his temper when his privacy had been invaded.

Once she was dressed, she followed the hall that led to the stairway. Upstairs were two other bedrooms. One was a couples, the other held a single, small bed. Neither had been used for quite some time and were neatly tucked away, but held that stale smell. The smaller room at the far end of the hall had a view of the beach.

She stared out at the moon hanging over the water, clouds sitting low on the horizon at a distance. It was mesmerizing for a while until she heard someone downstairs.

"Find yourself a room up there?" he asked, removing his jacket and unpacking a small sack in the kitchen. He was slightly out of breath, his brow looked like it has sweated a little, and he looked more tired than before. He waited to see if she would answer. "I brought us a little food, like I promised. It's stew. Come and have some; you must be hungry."

She went cautiously forward, surprised he was not the one more bashful. She had injured him last time, broke his stuff, spilled what he'd given her, then run away and gotten herself lost on the beach.

"And some bread. Nearly fresh." He announced. She accepted the small bowl and slice of bread and devoured it. She tried to keep some of her manners and not eat like an animal, but she still scarffed it as that was pushing the limits of her self-control. She had no idea when she had eaten last. She barely tasted it before it was gone within minutes.

"I'm sure you were very hungry. It's been a while since I've eaten properly as well." She wouldn't exactly call a take away from someone else's dinner probably hours ago a proper meal. He seemed to think so and he seemed to enjoy her company. He probably was not used to having anyone to talk to over dinner, even if she wasn't talking back. "This was my parent's old vacation cottage. They kept it when they lost most everything else. Take any room you'd like upstairs." She struggled to keep away the surprise

"Well, I'm exhausted." He sighed. "I'll be down here if you need anything. I usually stay in the bedroom down here when I stay which is, well, only a few days per month." That explained the damage and the boarded windows.

He offered her one last weak smile and hesitated as he stood, giving her the opportunity to speak. He limped when he walked, she noticed, as he crossed the living room to the hall. She thought of saying goodnight, but closed her mouth. She thought of just letting him rest, but thought better of that as well and opened it again. Her voice sounded strange in the silence of the cottage even to her. His slow trudge stopped at its sound. Just stopped. He did not jump or turn around.

"Why did you buy me? What do you want me for?"

Slowly, he turned, sighing. "I did _what I did_ to protect you. That's all."

"Protect me from what?" His brow furrowed and he took a single step forward, resting slightly against the couch.

"You know the men who took you are dangerous. You saw the crowd there. Malfoy, the man I had the exchange with in Knockturn Alley, is familiar to me. I taught his son for a while at school as well and I can tell you that family has _unsavory_ tastes. I intervened." There, he seemed to being saying—it's simple.

"Why did you save _me_?" She tried once more. "I mean, why not some other girl?"

He seemed to think carefully about his answer. "You remind me or a girl I used to know."

"Did you love her?" She was surprised at her own boldness.

"Like family." She did not expect him to be so forthcoming. He seemed to be a private man who lived in a very private cottage. "She was married to my best friend. They were murdered by Lord Voldemort. His friends are the ones that took you."

"I'm sorry."

"I want to tell you something," he paused, looking at her very seriously. "I want to tell you were I was tonight. And when I do I am going to have to trust you and you are going to have to trust me." She listened, her curiosity peaked.

"Tonight I went to a meeting of a resistance group. We opposed the Dark Lord the first and second time he rose to power, and we oppose him now. Buying girls from the Death Eater's slave trade captives is just one way we are trying to lessen the destruction he causes and undermine his rule. My friend, Molly, sent us the food from her own family's supper. I went to report on what I saw in the alley and that I had…acquired you, for lack of a better word."

"Have you saved many girls?"

"No," came his frank reply. "So far there have only been two besides you. One was very young and returned to her family as soon as that could be safely arranged. The other's family was dead and she wished to return the favor to the Order that granted her freedom by helping us however she could.

"So now you know," He told her, lightly slapping his knees as he sunk into an armchair. "And that is a very valuable piece of information you have on me."

"No one would believe me." She said dismissively.

"Oh on the contrary, I think you'll find them willing to follow any lead on locating me and my friends. We are wildly unpopular. Now you can trust me because you know my secret."

She considered this silently for a moment, then chanced boldness once more. "Are you really a werewolf?"

"Yes." he looked down, then smiled wryly. "But that's no secret."

She again gave no indication that this bothered her, nor did she return his smile. Instead, she drank her water and stared into the little metal beaker thoughtfully.

"I will not harm you." He told her, gazing directly into her eyes with his arm golden ones, eyes that seemed so trustworthy. But she knew eyes could lie, looks could be misleading, and true natures could be concealed. "You may have to stay at a friend's once a month though. If you'd like to meet them beforehand, you may accompany me to one of the meetings."

She did not nod. She did not know this resistance yet, what they were resisting, or if she wanted to be in its way. "When you're ready." He gave a small nod and smile of encouragement, but she sensed somehow he was disappointed as he stood and yawned.

"Your name?" He inquired so softly she barely heard him.

"Anna." She lied.

"Goodnight, Anna." He turned again to go to bed.

"Goodnight."

A/N: Thanks for reading! Hope you enjoyed this longer chapter. Please take a second to leave a review.


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